Omega Teacher’s Secret

it—Brad didn’t ask to be a father. It wasn’t as though he’d slept with Ian, knowing that there would be a child resulting from it. Having one child—much less, two—seemed like a huge bombshell to drop on him.
“I made a present for you,” Gwen said suddenly, setting her truck down. She crawled behind the Christmas tree, pulling out a floppy, flat present that Ian had missed. “For you, Daddy.”
She thrust the messily-wrapped present at him, a shiny blue bow stuck right in the middle. It seemed like she’d taken one from the bag of bows Ian had kept around, but Ian didn’t have the heart to chide her for it.
His throat tight, he picked open the gift—it felt as though there was a sheet of heavy paper within. “You made it yourself?”
Gwen nodded. “I did it at art class last week.”
Ian slid the paper out. It was a crayon drawing of two stick figures—Ian with his hair colored yellow, and glasses on his face. Gwen, with two ponytails and a big smile. They were holding hands in the picture, birds soaring in the sky, the smiling sun shining down on them.
“I asked Aunty June about the picture,” Gwen said worriedly. “She said it’s okay not to have two dads. The other kids in my class have two dads.”
Ian stared, his throat growing tight. He leaned in, cradled Gwen’s messy hair, and kissed her forehead. She smelled clean, like soap and hot chocolate, and Ian couldn’t believe she’d done this for him. “Thank you, hon. I love this. You did great.”
Gwen beamed.
“Is it okay if you only have one dad?” Ian croaked.
Gwen nodded. “Daddy is the best! I love you.”
Ian couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes. He set the drawing carefully aside, then scooped Gwen into his arms, hugging her close. “And you’re the best, Gwen. I love you.”
She smiled, dropping a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I’m so happy to have you,” Ian answered truthfully. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Gwen grinned.
And maybe a second child wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Ian could support two children, and they would love him unconditionally, even if he wasn’t the greatest at everything.
He held Gwen close, cradling his belly with his other hand. Maybe this second child would look more like Brad. Maybe Ian could have his own family, and everything would turn out okay.
Merry Christmas to me.
Gwen tugged on his sleeve after a few moments. “My truck doesn’t light up. There’s no batteries.”
Ian sighed, some of his joy seeping out of him. It figured that he’d forgotten something important amongst Gwen’s presents. What was the use of a light-up truck if it didn’t light up?
“There should be a store or two open, I think. Want to go see if we can find some batteries?”
Gwen brightened, bouncing on his lap. “Sure!”
It wasn’t as though they had anything planned—Ian’s Christmas traditions involved keeping Gwen entertained and fed, and them watching a movie on TV.
The Christmases from Ian’s childhood had been so different—he remembered his mother dishing food to his plate last, always with the worst cuts of meat.
Ian loved poultry thighs—he’d had them the first time when his father brought him and his brothers to a restaurant, and he’d ordered fried breaded chicken—the chicken thigh had been juicy and tender; it had become his favorite thing.
The moment Ian’s mother had learned he liked chicken thighs, she’d promptly given those pieces to his brothers, shoveling the overcooked breasts onto his plate.
Someone like you, you should be grateful to have food on your plate, Yvette McMillan had said. You’re scrawny and lazy, you good-for-nothing child.
Ian couldn’t remember ever being lazy, but nothing he’d done had changed his mother’s mind about him.
He shoved those memories away, breathing out. I’m not good for nothing. Gwen needs me.
“We may as well head out,” he told her. “Do you want to wear the hats from Aunty June?”
“Uh-huh!” Gwen leaped to her feet, racing across the tiny living room to retrieve the winter beanies. June’s wife, Cher, had knitted them.
Gwen hurried back, handing the larger pink-and-blue hat to Ian.
When they were both dressed in the matching hats, Ian grabbed his phone and wallet. “C’mon, let’s get going.”
Gwen skipped down the stairs with him, counting out every step like they always did. Then they climbed into the car, and Ian drove to the few malls in Meadowfall, searching for an open store.
The first two malls were closed. At the third, cars were parked in the parking lot, and Ian brightened. “Look, I think we’ll find your batteries here!”
“Yay!” Gwen kicked her feet, and Ian pulled into the parking lot.
When he opened the door, the first thing he heard was the high, bright note of an electric violin.
Ian paused, blinking. That was new.
It wasn’t just a simple violin tune, either. Thumps punctuated the lively string notes; the tune began to loop, multiple melodies playing at the same time, weaving together to form a complex piece. It was as though an orchestra had come to play right there in the parking lot.
The notes slid into Ian’s ears, racing down his spine. It was amazing.
When he and Gwen were out of the car, Ian locked it, holding Gwen’s hand as they crossed the asphalt. Gwen bounced to the violin’s tune.
“It sounds pretty,” she said.
“Let’s take a look at who’s playing,” Ian said, checking for cars before they crossed the road.
On the other side of the mall’s main entrance, there stood a lone man dressed in warm clothing, accompanied by a couple of speakers and a pedal-board at his feet. He swayed to the music, flicking the violin’s bow deftly across its strings. Despite the passers-by dropping notes into his violin case, the violinist seemed to play in a world of his own.
Ian smiled, envious. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been wrapped up in anything so thoroughly.
He followed as Gwen dragged him over, her curls bouncing in the chilly breeze. The violinist looked like an alpha—broad